


Tactical Absurdity

by BuffyRowan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: After the first movie, Gen, Humor, Mourning, why'd Harry choose the yappy little dog?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:25:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8285777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuffyRowan/pseuds/BuffyRowan
Summary: memories shared of a young Harry Hart





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, a bit of fanon hinted at regarding the personal relationship between Percival and the old Lancelot. Also, for visual reference, the role of Tristan is being played by a young Ian McShane, and Gawain is being played by Paul Bettany.

It had been over a month, but they'd finally been able to gather the table to raise a glass in honor of Galahad, of Harry Hart. Merlin had scoffed at the thought of the traditional solemn bit of brandy around the table, and handed out bottles of Guinness in the library instead. Roxy had curled up on a small settee near the chair where her uncle sat, continuing the habit of always finding Lancelot and Percival together. Eggsy was slouched next to her, with JB curled up snoring on his lap. Other knights were scattered around, those who hadn't been around to peek in on the candidates taking the measure of their new colleagues.

It was Tristan who mentioned it, pointing at JB, "I saw the footage from Valentine's compound, so I knew the lad had old Harry's penchant for hand-to-hand chaos. But really, did he teach the boy all of his madness?" The older knights chuckled, but smiled kindly when Eggsy looked around to see if it was a compliment or insult.

Merlin laughed loudly, because it was either that or cry. Eggsy sat up a bit, "Wot, I thought he was a bulldog. The fuck am I supposed to know a pug from a pit as a pup?" The movement woke JB, and Eggsy fussed over him a bit, getting him settled on a cushion between him and Roxy so the pug could go back to sleep.

"What you did by accident, Harry did with forethought and purpose." Merlin shook his head, remembering back to that fall afternoon. It was the first time Merlin was overseeing the selection of a new knight, with the old Merlin observing and advising him. Because, as his mentor liked to say, unlike those damnfool knights, wizards know the value of training your replacement before you leave your post. "Every time, candidates tend towards breeds that are traditionally working dogs, hunters, law enforcement uses, etc. But not Harry. He looked them over, and I saw him considering it. He picked this tiny scrap of fur, a yappy little creature that acted like king of the fecking kennel."

Eggsy laughed, "Why the 'ell would he do that? Other than the fact he could be an utter shite?"

Gawain leaned forward from the wingback he'd sprawled in like a Regency rake on a tatty romance novel cover. "Now that, young Galahad, is something I'd like the answer to, myself. Harry never would properly explain, simply look smug and answer 'tactical absurdity' or some other rot."

It somehow hurt less, remembering Harry surrounded by their friends and colleagues. Merlin leaned back to stare at the ceiling with a smile, letting the memories play out. "Tactical absurdity, yes. He demonstrated it on one of his first ops. He needed to get close to a man very high up in the Russian mafia. Paranoid old sod, only place he could get close enough to plant a tracker on the man was in the park. But there were a pair of bodyguards, big bruisers that wouldn't have tolerated Harry's usual way of talking his way past things. 

"Well, Harry starts walking Mr. Pickles in the park the same time as old Boris is taking his walks. But Harry walks past, bold as brass, even sits at the bench next to him. And the bodyguards don't bat an eye, because instead of seeing a fit young bloke, they see some posh young twat in a bespoke suit, walking a frou-frou little dog. And he's fussing over that daft dog, pulling out this little brush to make sure his fur is perfect, talking about meeting 'mummy' for tea after their walk. They peg him as being a harmless posh poofter, or so thoroughly under his mother's thumb that he wouldn't say hello without her permission. Harry planted the tracker, sweet and easy, never saw a mission of his go as easy as that again."

It was good to hear laughter ringing in the halls of Kingsman. And good to remember the better times, the devil-may-care smile and floppy hair that had won his heart rather than the sound of the gunshot that ended life with Harry. Tactical absurdity as used against grief.


End file.
